


I Should Be So Lucky

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg goes through his usual Monday morning routine - with one small difference...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Should Be So Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> I've been very mean to Greg recently (and will be again) so I thought for once I would cut him some slack...

On weekday mornings when he wasn't called out to a crime scene - or still at one from the night before - Greg Lestrade had a routine, just like thousands of other commuters.

He would leave his house, walk to the end of his street, turn left, cross over the road and enter Singh's General Store and Newsagents.

Mr Singh was an elderly Sikh gentleman with a huge bushy white beard that Father Christmas would be jealous of. He'd run the shop for years, and for years he and Greg had exchanged little more than the barest of pleasantries, until the morning Greg had caught a shoplifter red-handed.

Something like that was a natural ice-breaker and next time he entered the shop Greg had been greeted with a cheerful, "Good morning, Inspector. How are you today?"

Greg's routine had easily adjusted to allow a couple of extra minutes for chatting and gradually, over the years, a relaxed acquaintance had grown between him and Mr Singh - "Hardeep please, if I am to call you Greg" - and each had accumulated a surprising amount of knowledge of the other based on only a few sentences exchanged each morning. Hardeep would share the many trials and tribulations of his children and grandchildren. Greg would bemoan the bureaucracy of his job and some of the people he had to deal with ("Ah yes - I saw your friend with the hat in _The Telegraph_ again today.") Most often though the conversation was of the truly important things in life - cricket and football.

As they discussed the weather, sport, Hardeep's granddaughter's latest boyfriend, Greg would pick up and pay for a Danish pastry and a newspaper. Apple and raisin was his favourite but the one with raspberry jam was an acceptable second choice. He would devour the Danish on the way to the Tube station. Once on the train, he would read the paper - starting at the back page and working forward - and on arriving at the office he would donate it to the break room, from where it would usually have vanished by lunchtime.

The routine only had one slight variation; on Monday mornings (or the next time he was in after Monday) Greg would hand over his lottery ticket. Hardeep would scan the barcode on the machine to check it, they would both chuckle at the thought of _what if?_ while they waited and then Hardeep would shake his head, put the expired ticket in the wastebasket under the counter and issue Greg with a new ticket for the two draws this coming week.

Sometimes it would beep to let Greg know he'd won a lucky dip for the next draw and very _very_ rarely the machine would give out an electronic fanfare and Greg would leave twenty-five pounds richer but he'd never matched more than three numbers.

This particular Monday morning was bright and cold. Greg had to pull his gloves off to take the ticket out of his wallet. He was picking up his Danish when the machine pronounced his ticket as a winning one.

Hardeep was already opening the till and reaching for the "brown drinking vouchers", as Greg called them, before the machine had finished printing out the prize information. He took the pink and white slip of paper and glanced at it as he handed over the money. 

"Oh."

Greg paused in the act of reaching for the notes. "'Oh?' Don't tell me I _finally_ got more than three? Nice one. It's about sixty quid for four, isn't it?"

"No...I..." Hardeep slowly withdrew his hand and put the notes back in the till without taking his eyes off the slip he was holding in his other hand. "Here." He handed the slip over.

Greg took it and quickly scanned over it looking for the pound symbol and a few numbers. There were a lot of numbers but they were a phone number, not an amount.

He looked back up to the top of the slip. The words "Congratulations" and "JACKPOT" leapt out at him.

"Oh."

He looked up. Hardeep was staring at him open-mouthed - which made Greg realise his own jaw had also dropped open. He closed it and asked, "H-how..." He stopped and gulped to try to get some moisture into his suddenly dry mouth before continuing, "How much was the jackpot on Saturday?"

"Twelve million pounds," Hardeep replied with slow reverence.

Greg looked down at the ticket again then back up at Hardeep. "I've won twelve million pounds?"

Hardeep nodded. "It would appear so. I think there was only one winning ticket."

He smiled back at Greg, the twinkle in his eyes making him look more like Santa than ever. Hell, as far as Greg was concerned he was the best Santa _ever_.

Greg felt his face, completely unbidden, break out into an enormous grin and what could only be described as a _roar_ of happiness burst out of him.

Hardeep joined in the roar and they reached across the counter and grabbed each other in a huge hug, bouncing on the spot as if Pakistan had won the ICC World Cup and Arsenal were Champion's League winners.

They broke apart and stepped back, looking around, suddenly embarrassed by such an unmanly show of emotion - and worried someone had spotted it and would ask why - but still both grinning from ear to ear.

"I am so pleased for you, my friend!" Hardeep announced once they were sure the coast was clear.

"Wow. I better call that number, eh?"

"Yes, you had! And you will need this too!" Hardeep handed back Greg's winning ticket followed by a pen. "Here - write your name on the back now."

Greg had almost completely forgotten about the actual ticket. That small slip of paper which was worth _twelve million quid_. He'd seen far too many cases where people had been killed for a lot less. " _Shit_ , yes..." He winced at the unintended expletive. "Sorry."

Hardeep waved the apology away. "I think a little bad language is understandable given the circumstances."

"I'll make it up to you... How does a new Merc sound?" Greg joked. He forced himself to carefully print his name and address with a shaky hand.

"Very nice - but unnecessary. My business will be booming! People will come from all over just to buy tickets here!"

"Blimey -  I suppose they will. There." Greg handed the pen back to Hardeep, put the ticket in his wallet and put his wallet in his inside jacket pocket.

Then he zipped up the pocket... and zipped up his jacket as well.

"Now," Hardeep said. "Take that home, put it somewhere safe and call that number."

"Oh heck! I can't go home," Greg said, suddenly remembering his real life. "I have to go to the office! There's a ton of paperwork waiting and I need to tell my boss about this and..."

Hardeep interrupted him. "No. Go home. Phone the number. They will tell you what to do. Do not tell anyone else until you have spoken to the lottery people. I will not breathe a word, I promise."

"Right... yes. You're right. Yes. Sorry... Just... I guess I'm a bit overwhelmed."

"I'm not surprised! Go home. Make tea. Phone." Hardeep had walked round from behind the counter and gently ushered Greg towards the door without Greg even noticing he was doing it.

Greg put his hand up on the wire mesh covering the glass to prevent Hardeep from opening the door. "Thank you, Hardeep. I..." He couldn't think of a good way to express himself other than, "Thanks."

"It is my pleasure, Greg. It could not happen to a nicer or more deserving man." Hardeep patted him on the back.

Greg dropped his hand and shook Hardeep's.

Hardeep opened the door and stepped back to allow him through.

"Oh and Greg?" he said, as Greg stepped outside.

"Yeah?"

"I am only sorry I will not be there to see your ex-wife's face when she hears of your good fortune." Hardeep winked at him, closed the door and went back to his counter.

Greg laughed. He kept laughing all the way home and laughed even harder when he realised Hardeep had let him leave the shop without paying for his Danish and newspaper.

He probably figured Greg was good for it...

**Author's Note:**

> Just one chapter for now - but wouldn't it be interesting to see others reaction to Greg's good fortune...?


End file.
